Some writers suffer from a deficit of courage, often combined with a devastatingly acute ability to see flaws (in others' work, and in their own). I know many brilliant writers or would-be writers who are afraid to write because they can't bear to produce shit. That fear prevents them from starting their novel or their essay or their story or their poem. Or, if they do manage to start, the fear prevents them from finishing.
For me the problem is patience. I have learned to slog, I have learned to face the shit that comes out of me, and I know it's shit. But what I need to do now? Listen to the real beat of my real heart and let its beating carry me through. To where? No fucking clue. I hope that with patience I'll see my way through the shit and maybe glimpse where I'm going. I really hope that will happen. However, I also understand that, even with patience, I might never see a thing. The whole myth of progress, scaled down to a single human life: it may be one more pile of crap. I may never see, we all may never see.
But still I listen, and still my heart beats. So I try to keep looking. The vision directed inward somehow meeting the vision directed outward.
The Whistling puppy wrote: I know many brilliant writers or would-be writers who are afraid to write because they can't bear to produce shit. That fear prevents them from starting their novel or their essay or their story or their poem. Or, if they do manage to start, the fear prevents them from finishing.
ReplyDeleteAh, yes... not just writers! It seems that fortune sometimes favors the non-introspective and the narcissist... people for whom the question, "Would anyone else care to read/see/hear this?" will never come up.
A certain measure of introspection, however, for me (and for you, I think) is inevitable. It is who we are.
My own goal for the coming year is to be bolder, and to finish things... not to worry about posterity or how it looks or if I am understood... because those fears paralyze me.